Shiddat

Chapter 2

The Rathore mansion stood as a proud monument of both legacy and ambition, its imposing structure nestled amidst manicured gardens and lush greenery, which provided a serene contrast to the bustling city just beyond the high gates. Majestic arches, intricate carvings, and polished marble hinted at a storied past, while sleek, modern touches subtly weaved in signaled the family's embrace of the future. The golden evening light bathed the facade, casting a warm glow on the sprawling estate that had been home to generations of Rathores.

Inside, the mansion was already alive with the quiet hum of activity as dinner approached. The soft amber glow of evening lamps illuminated the grand living room, casting a warm light over the luxurious furnishings and rich, ornate decor. High ceilings, adorned with crystal chandeliers, loomed above, while the walls were lined with intricate carvings that whispered tales of the family's proud history. Heavy velvet drapes framed tall windows that overlooked the gardens, where the fading twilight painted the sky in dusky hues of purple and gold.

At the heart of this room, the elder members of the Rathore family had gathered, their soft conversation filling the space with a familiar comfort. Rajveer Rathore, the family patriarch, sat in his usual chair, an imposing figure even in his late 60s. His sharp, deep-set eyes, framed by a weathered face, reflected the wisdom and weight of decades spent guiding the Rathore empire. He sipped his evening chai slowly, the rich aroma mixing with the faint scent of sandalwood incense that burned in a nearby corner.

Beside him sat Sumiran Rathore, his wife, embodying quiet grace and calm. Dressed in a soft cream saree, her silver-streaked hair neatly tied in a bun, she radiated warmth and poise. As she glanced at the clock, her eyes held the quiet confidence of a mother who knew her children well. "They'll be home soon," she said softly, her voice steady and soothing.

Rajveer grunted in response, not looking up from his cup. "It's almost dinner time," he muttered, though his tone carried no irritation-just the impatience of a man used to punctuality.

On the cream-colored sofa sat Mahendra Rathore, Rajveer's eldest son. Mahendra had inherited much of his father's seriousness and sense of duty, and even now, his brow was slightly furrowed as he checked his phone for messages from his siblings. His well-groomed dark hair and the simple yet elegant kurta he wore only added to his dignified appearance. His wife, Sunita, who sat beside him in a light pink saree, looked more at ease. Her gentle smile softened the room's atmosphere, and her playful laugh broke the quiet tension.

"Maya will be the last to arrive, as usual," Sunita remarked with a knowing smile. "She's probably caught up in one of her adventures."

Vikram Rathore, the younger of Rajveer's sons, leaned back in his chair with a grin. Dressed casually in a navy-blue kurta, his relaxed demeanor contrasted with his brother's more formal air. "You know Maya," he chuckled. "She never does anything by the clock."

His wife, Priya, glanced over with a quiet smile, her dark eyes reflecting her understanding of her husband's carefree nature. "But Arjun and Rohan should be back soon," she said reassuringly, smoothing out an invisible crease on her maroon saree.

As the soft murmur of conversation continued, the youngest present, Aksh Rathore, shifted restlessly on the floor. At 17, Aksh was the embodiment of youthful energy; his lean, athletic frame sprawled across the rug as he flipped through a book with little interest. His tousled black hair fell over his forehead as he shot a mischievous grin at his grandmother.

"Dadi, should I go see if they're stuck in traffic?" he quipped, his tone teasing.

Sumiran chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Be patient, Aksh. They'll be here soon."